


Out of the Bubble

by Comp_Lady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, playing fast and loose with the statute of secrecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comp_Lady/pseuds/Comp_Lady
Summary: Harry had just wanted to travel. To get away from all the starry-eyed witches and wizards that seemed to dog his every step back in Britain. His road trip across America hits a snag when a tire goes flat, forcing him to learn that there is more to the global wizarding world than he expected.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Out of the Bubble

He’d just wanted to travel. To get away from all the starry-eyed witches and wizards that seemed to dog his every step back in Britain. Thanking him endlessly for defeating the Dark Lord and bringing peace to the wizarding world at last! How he must be so proud! Here, please! Let them but his meal, buy him a drink, shake his hand and will he kiss their baby and  _ name _ their baby and nevermind them they just will flock to the cafe across the street from his flat to catch a glimpse of him and—

So. Traveling.

He went to the United States first. Remembering how growing up it always seemed so different from Britain. Harry hoped that maybe the same was true for the wizarding world too. Only to run right into the same thing. Fawning fans and flashbulbs going off in his face.

Harry doesn’t know where he is when the Magical Congress supplied rental car gets a flat tire. There’s a huge field on one side of the pitted dirt road, whatever was grown there has long been harvested and all that remains is a sea of crunchy looking brown stalks. The other side is lined by a wall of tightly packed trees, a single driveway cutting through into the black of the night.

He should have learned how to change a tire when he had the chance. Better yet, he should have rented a car from a reputable muggle business instead of just taking the first one the MACUSA offered. Maybe then he wouldn’t be standing in the opening scene of one of those muggle slasher movies Dudley had gotten into recently.

Standing on a dirt road in the middle of the night. Staring at the flat tire illuminated by the light from his wand. Harry’s not sure how long he stands there exactly. Staring at the tire, getting bit by mosquitos, listening to the crickets and the frogs in the field and woods. Trying to ignore the occasional low gibbering moan that comes from somewhere in the distance. A reminder that he doesn’t know what magical creatures are native to North America.

The distant rumble of an engine breaks him out of his reverie. The flash of headlights down the road. Harry extinguishes his wand and digs the torch out of the glovebox. Tucking his wand in his back pocket. Every American witch and wizard said that the muggles here could be unpredictable. Some said violent, especially in rural areas. Best to keep on his guard. Just in case.

Harry still finds himself swallowing a lump in his throat. Heart pounding as the approaching tuck slows, then pulls over behind his rental. He has to bring a hand up to block out the glare of the headlights as he watches a man clamber out.

“Car troubles?” the man asks.

“Uh, yeah, tire’s gone flat,” Herry replies. Squinting against the light, heart in his throat as the man approaches.

The man is tall and broad shouldered. Wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He scratches at his stubble as he crouches to look at the tire. The sound of a pair of doors on the truck opening then falling shut draws Harry’s attention. A woman, wearing an jean jacket that’s too big for her with her hair tied back in a ponytail, and a gangly teen coming to join them at the tire.

“We should be able to get this fixed up quick for you. Jack, go get yourself from the back of the truck,” The man says.

The teen, Jack, rolls his eyes. Grumbling about his dad “making that stupid joke  _ every time” _ as he walks back to the truck.

“Gotta admit we don’t get many with that accent out here. You’re English, I take it?”

“Yeah, thought I’d travel a bit after finishing school.” These muggles certainly don’t need to know the full story. Harry is already feeling enough like a prat for assuming these people were going to kill just because what? Some witches back in New York said they would? When logically the chances of him meeting perfectly normal muggles was much higher. Harry scrubs at the back of his neck. Definitely a right prat.

“Why didn’t you get a hotel, hun?” the woman asks. Brows furrowed as she looks at Harry.

“I-” Harry sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “I thought I’d come across one before it got so late.”

The woman tuts, but her expression is understanding. “I’m Jean and this is my husband Cal,” she says, brow still furrowed, “I think we’ve got a map in the glove box. Give me just a moment and I can show you how to get to a hotel once Cal gets that tire changed.”

Jack appears at his mother’s elbow. “Dad, I couldn’t find the jack.”

Cal curses, and Harry finds them all moving to the back of the family’s truck. Watching as Cal climbs into the truck bed to sort through the metal box. A stone sinks in Harry’s stomach as Cal straightens up. Staring down at the box as he scratches his head.

“Well shit,” he sighs.

Jean taps her son on the shoulder then motions to the dark road. “Go get Old Merle, he’ll help.”

“No, you don’t have—” but the boy grabs a flashlight and disappears into the darkness before Harry can finish. Cal assures him it’s not a problem. Still, Harry can’t help feeling like a burden. First with delaying this family and now waking up someone else in the middle of the night. This entire road trip already starting to feel like a mistake.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by voices. Distant through the trees. Accompanied by the sway of flashlights.

“Heard ya got someone caught with a flat?” The voice is rough-hewn. A deep smoker’s rasp that Harry somehow didn’t expect. The man that steps into the light is tall and built like a barrel. His short beard emphasizing his round face. This must, Harry assumes, be Old Merle. His assumption is confirmed when the man introduces himself.

“Is it bad, Cal?”

“Don't look it. Just need to give the car a lift so we can pop on the spare.”

Merle nods and reaches for the back pocket of his overalls. Maybe reaching for one of those new cellular phones that are getting popular with muggles, Harry thinks. Or a radio of some sort to ask someone back at his house to bring a jack? Harry blinks when it turns out to be a stick. About seven inches long and, at a second glance, made of several vines braided together tightly. It almost reminds Harry of—

Old Merle twitches the stick and the driver’s side of the car lifts itself a few inches into the air.

Harry actually jerks back in surprise. Staring slack-jawed at the blatant use of magic. Done in front of muggles! Muggle who… who… don’t even seem to care. Cal is imparting some piece of wisdom as his son helps change the tire. Jean goes back to climb into their truck after giving Harry’s shoulder a squeeze and assuring him he’s in good hands. They must be confounded, Harry thinks. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

“Close your mouth, boy. ‘Fore you find out what a mosquito bite on the tongue feels like.”

Harry’s jaw snaps shut, teeth clacking together. Old Merle watches him for a moment. Gaze piercing in a manner that Harry had last seen from Dumbledore.

“Magic ain’t that much of a secret to the rest of the world, boy.”

“How is that possible?” Harry asks, mind reeling.

Old Merle chuckles. “How’s this: when Cal and his boy are done you come stay with me and the missus. You can get some good food and sleep, and we can see about filling you in on how things are.”

Harry nods, feeling quite numb. That would probably be for the best.


End file.
